


Lament of the Rime

by HoneyButterYum



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Centaur Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Centaurs, Connor's a little shit, Curse Breaking, Curses, Fae Magic, Hank is a dumbass but we love him anyway, Lost Woods type of deal, M/M, Magic, Memory Alteration, Non-Consensual Kissing, how do I tag this honestly, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyButterYum/pseuds/HoneyButterYum
Summary: As the first snow of winter descended from the sky, Hank realized there was no such thing as benevolent creatures.





	Lament of the Rime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashietoashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashietoashes/gifts).



> uhhhhhh I dropped everything and wrote this instead of working on my ongoing DBH fics so, uh, thanks, Ash. This is your fault lmfao

Hank was lost.

Hank was lost because, in the spur of the moment, he had decided to fuck off and take a trip to some who-the-fuck-knew-where forest. It would be good for his health, he’d thought. It would be a good time to relax, to take a break from his job, spice up his repeated routine. Yet here he was, lost in the woods, his phone stuck between no service and 3G. The thin fog didn’t help, the white mist thick at Hank’s feet. The crack of branches and Sumo pulling too hard on his leash left Hank’s heart pounding in his chest, and Sumo especially didn’t help Hank’s old heart when he’d perk his ears in some random direction, as if he saw something Hank couldn’t.

Hank could’ve sworn his car had been this way— That tree seemed familiar, didn’t it? Then again, all these trees seemed familiar, and the fog that veiled the ground prevented Hank from being able to spot his own footprints in the soft earth.

With an uneasy frown, Hank’s mind wandered to thoughts of the forests in video games he used to play—protagonists unprepared for the journey, lost in the fog and the twists and turns of the nonexistent path, the supposed ‘hero’ unsure of the correct way to safety. It would take Hank a few tries to beat those locations going in blind, and then his thoughts came back to him in his present situation.

Fuck.

He needed a break. Hank came up to a fallen tree trunk and sat, tipping his head back to just breathe. Sumo nuzzled against Hank’s hands and rested his chin on Hank’s knee. “Wish you could sniff us back to my damn car,” Hank muttered. “Sorry, boy.”

Sumo’s tail thumped against the ground in blissful ignorance. After a heavy sigh, Hank reached out and scratched behind Sumo’s ears, then stood. “Alright, let’s try this again.” Sumo barked at that, and Hank couldn’t help a smile.

_Hank_

A whisper of a breeze blew past Hank’s ear and sent a shudder through his body. Hank spun around, his eyes wide, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Nothing. Of course there was nothing, he was just a dumbass. What the fuck was Hank thinking, whispers?

But the fog became heavier, thicker, and frigid terror crystallized on Hank’s shoulders.

_Hank,_ the wind said to him, another shiver rolling down Hank’s spine. _Help us, Hank. Save us. Save me._

Alright, fuck it. Hank spun right the fuck around and backtracked, picking up his pace even as Sumo dragged along a few steps behind. “Sumo, c’mon,” Hank whispered through a hiss, as if the origin of the whispers could hear him, too.

Sumo didn’t listen, and he whipped his head around and howled, lurching himself forward and choking himself on his taut leash, not as tight when Hank pitched forward. “Fuck, Sumo!” Hank stumbled and lost his grip on the leash, then hit the ground with a thud as Sumo disappeared into the fog.

Hank’s breath came in short, heavy bursts, his lungs burning to take in a larger breath. He coughed and let out a groan of pain. “S-Sumo!” he called, weak as he struggled to stand. “Sumo, come! C’mere, boy!”

_He’ll be safe,_ the whispers said. _The forest will protect him._

Out from the mass of white haze coating the forest in a dark veil came a tall, thin black silhouette. “It’ll be alright,” said a clear voice, the same as the whispers that had haunted Hank. Hank hacked up a lung, tears rolling down his cheeks, and tried to focus on the ground in front of him. Two pairs of shiny black cloven hooves stepped up to him.

Hallucinations, huh? Hank wiped his eyes, trying to focus. He lifted his gaze, dragging up the sleek black coat of some—some type of deer. Then the black fur faded to pale white skin, the waist of a…a man.

“Hello, Hank,” the creature said with a gentle smile. “Are you able to stand?”

Hank blinked once, twice, as he looked upon the otherwise naked torso of a man connected to the body of a deer, two massive dark gray antlers protruding from his head. A little cloak of white-speckled black fur covered the creature’s shoulders, and he drew the cloak closer around himself with one delicate hand, his other reaching down to Hank. “There’s nothing to fear, Hank.”

Hank shuffled back, eyes wide. “H-how—how do you know my name?”

With a soft laugh, the creature—the _centaur,_ Hank realized—took slow steps closer to Hank. The centaur tapped the side of his head near his ear, long and fuzzy like an actual deer’s. “Though it may be difficult to spot them, the forest has plenty of life hidden within it, life that loves to find out all the secrets of those who wander here. Even through this cursed fog.”

Hidden? Cursed? Hank’s mind reeled, and all he could do was gape in horrified awe at the creature towering before him.

The creature knelt, graceful as he laid his deer body onto the fallen leaves and branches, now more at Hank’s level. The centaur cocked his head, deep brown doe eyes gazing at Hank with an innocent vulnerability that caused Hank to gulp in discomfort. “Talk to me.”

Words spilled from Hank’s lips without him meaning to, as if some strange force had pulled them from his throat. “Who are you? Why—why are you here; why am I here?”

“My name was Connor,” the centaur said, “and I appeared to you because you trespass on dangerous territory.”

“‘Was’?” Hank furrowed his brow, though his muscles stayed taut, ready to force him up to flee if needed.

‘Connor’ nodded. “Though, that shouldn’t be your first question.” He stood, then took Hank’s massive hand in his own, tiny in comparison, and helped Hank to his feet. “Walk with me."

And, as that strange force brought movement to his feet, Hank blew a heavy, strained sigh. He didn’t have a choice but to obey this mystic being.

They walked beside each other through the golden autumn forest. Hank swallowed down his further questions, sure that if he waited this out, he’d find he’d wake up back at his camp, Sumo’s barking an incessant alarm clock.

“You won’t,” Connor said, soft, as he glanced down at Hank. “Though you may not like it, this isn’t a dream. You truly are lost. And I…I am truly here to help you.”

With another hard gulp, Hank looked up at the centaur. “You—“ He hesitated at the face of this mystical being, Connor’s head cocked to the side, a small, defiant curl of hair falling over his forehead. Hank wet his lips and tried again. “Why are you helping me?”

Connor’s laugh sent a spark of warmth to Hank’s cheeks. “It is my duty.”

“Your…duty?” Hank frowned. “What…what do you mean?”

“I mean….” Connor tipped his head up, looking at the sky through the few red, orange, and yellow leaves still on the trees above. He lifted his hand to brush against his head, where one of his antlers protruded from. “It is why I am here. My one chance for redemption.”

Woah, the fuck? “Redemption? For what?”

At that, Connor turned to Hank with a strained smile and squeezed Hank’s hand. Hank flinched, having forgotten he’d even taken Connor’s hand in the first place. “Let’s say the forest and I didn’t agree, once, many years ago.”

Well, that was cryptic as fuck. Hank turned his gaze to the ground and let them settle into silence. The trees around them creaked and shifted in the breeze, Hank’s heavy steps far too loud, while Connor’s hoofsteps seemed nonexistent in comparison.

_Hank help me Hank save me Hank set me free_

A block of ice settled over Hank’s shoulders, and he wrenched his hand free from Connor’s grip to cover his ringing ears. He coughed, shoulders trembling. “Th-the fuck was that?”

Connor grabbed Hank’s shoulder and looked out into the fog around them. “Nothing. Just the pleas of the damned.” He reached down and clasped both his hands around one of Hank’s. “The forest is ruthless to those who defile it.” He nodded his head forward, toward a faint path between two close trees. “This way. We should hurry.”

“Hurry? I—“ Burning ice pierced Hank’s chest. “Listen, I, uh, I don’t— Where are you taking me?”

Connor turned to Hank and stared for a long moment, his pink lips parted, his eyes holding a desperate emotion Hank couldn’t begin to try to decipher. “To safety,” he murmured, unsure, as though he didn’t believe it himself.

That was when Hank took a few steps back, his ankles hitting a large branch. His hands trembled as he reached behind himself and pressed his palms to a tree trunk. “W-where the _fuck_ are you taking me? What are you?”

Connor frowned and stepped forward. “I’m…whatever you want me to be.” He tilted his head, his sharp antlers gleaming in the dusk’s light. “Your savior, a figment of your imagination.” Something dark and cold, alongside uncertainty, flashed in Connor’s eyes. “Or your demise.”

Hank tried to take another step back, but his back hit the tree trunk as Connor drew closer, close enough for his hot breath to blow against Hank’s face. “S-stay the fuck away from me,” Hank whispered, adrenaline sending a nonstop twitch through his fingers.

“I won’t hurt you.” Connor took Hank’s hands and gave him something reminiscent of a soothing smile. “Not many people come into this forest.”

Hank didn’t have to wonder why. He gulped. Even if he broke away and ran, Connor had a fucking deer for most of his body. Hank couldn’t run far.

“You’re right. I could easily catch up to you.” Connor frowned and lifted his hands to brush his fingertips over Hank’s face. Hank found he wasn’t breathing, wasn’t blinking, his lungs burning for air, his eyes watering from the cold wind. “Please don’t be scared,” Connor breathed. “I’m sorry.”

Connor leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hank’s. For a moment, Hank stood, frozen. Then, that damned force settled at his shoulders and wormed its way into his chest, relaxing his tense muscles, becoming a heavy weight in his muddled head.

Connor pulled away and whispered, “All my sins become yours.” He stepped back, the tips of his antlers crumbling off his head. Each prong, each horn of bone falling to the earth as Connor lifted his hands to his face and sobbed.

But through his fingers, Hank saw Connor’s broad grin.

When the last bit of antler fell from Connor’s head, Hank _screamed_ and collapsed to the ground as the force in his head erupted outward, becoming more than just a force—becoming bone. Becoming horns. Becoming prongs.

They weighed Hank down, each singular horn a sin, each one a crime Hank had to atone for. The sins of those who had wronged the forest—one prong for one person. And Connor had given them all to him.

Connor shuffled back, grace no more in his movements, jerky and pained. His deer body retracted, becoming dust, snow, dirt, leaving a bare, naked human in its wake.

Now Hank understood. This curse wasn’t meant to be painful, it was meant to teach a lesson. And Connor had failed. Hank could feel Connor’s sin on his antlers, could pinpoint the exact location of the horn, knew what Connor had done to bring himself here.

From the dirt and mud beneath him formed the rest of Hank’s body, his coat a fuzzy gray. Snow fell from the sky above in a gentle freefall, collecting on his antlers, the back of his reindeer body, the tips of his long ears. Hank struggled to lift himself under the weight of his antlers but found his legs didn’t work, too many to try and control.

Connor himself struggled to his feet, then stumbled to Hank’s side and gathered up Hank’s somewhat torn pants, tugging them off his hooves. Connor fumbled into them, far too big. He slid Hank’s coat off Hank’s shoulders and took it for himself, putting in on over his fur cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered, cupping Hank’s cheek. He drew away and stepped back, then ran through the fog.

Once Connor left, Hank no longer knew how he’d gotten here. For all he knew, he’d been a centaur his whole existence. Even so, Hank felt a strange loneliness, as though there was someone he’d left behind, forgotten about.

Hank closed his eyes and let the snowfall envelop him in silence.

* * *

Connor dashed through the forest on unsteady legs, like a foal that had just been born. He escaped from the fog, escaped from the silence, escaped the pressure of the hundreds of vices weighing down his head.

He found Hank’s camp not too far from where Hank had been circling, over and over, within the mist of Connor’s own making. Sumo waited for Connor, and Connor stepped up to the dog with a smile. “Hello, Sumo. It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” He took Sumo’s leash and packed up his camp, then hopped into his car and drove off back to Detroit. Back to his job, back to his home.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson didn’t exist.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh, centaur Hank is just as good as centaur Connor


End file.
